Читать книгу The Poems of Schiller — Suppressed poems - Фридрих Шиллер, Friedrich von Schiller - Страница 7

   Once the nine all weeping came

    To the god of song

   "Oh, papa!" they there exclaim —

    "Hear our tale of wrong!

   "Young ink-lickers swarm about

    Our dear Helicon;

   There they fight, manoeuvre, shout,

    Even to thy throne.

   "On their steeds they galop hard

    To the spring to drink,

   Each one calls himself a bard —

    Minstrels — only think!

   "There they — how the thing to name!

    Would our persons treat —

   This, without a blush of shame,

    We can ne'er repeat;

   "One, in front of all, then cries,

    'I the army lead!'

   Both his fists he wildly plies,

    Like a bear indeed!

   "Others wakes he in a trice

    With his whistlings rude;

   But none follow, though he twice

    Has those sounds renewed.

   "He'll return, he threats, ere long,

    And he'll come no doubt!

   Father, friend to lyric song,

    Please to show him out!"

   Father Phoebus laughing hears

    The complaint they've brought;

   "Don't be frightened, pray, my dears,

    We'll soon cut them short!

   "One must hasten to hell-fire,

    Go, Melpomene!

   Let a fury borrow lyre,

    Notes, and dress, of thee.

   "Let her meet, in this array,

    One of these vile crews,

   As though she had lost her way,

    Soon as night ensues.

   "Then with kisses dark, I trust,

    They'll the dear child greet,

   Satisfying their wild lust

    Just as it is meet!" —

   Said and done! — Then one from hell

    Soon was dressed aright.

   Scarcely had the prey, they tell,

    Caught the fellow's sight,

   Than, as kites a pigeon follow,

    They attacked her straight —

   Part, not all, though, I can swallow

    Of what folks relate.

   If fair boys were 'mongst the band,

    How came they to be —

   This I cannot understand, —

    In such company?

  The goddess a miscarriage had, good lack!

   And was delivered of an — Almanac!